Friends and students of the King
have locked themselves behind closed doors
deep in the city in an upper room,
deep in grief, their hope
not yet resurrected
After seeing hope seized,
scourged and fastened to wood
His students forget
the King only sleeps
in the heart of the earth
But His enemies remember his claim
to rise on the third day
and they seal the tomb
not knowing the vanity
of keeping the dead inside
when death itself could not hold Him
The priests charge guards
with watching for rebels,
fans and body snatchers,
for those coming in, not those leaving
the delay of the tomb
In darkening hours the women
who followed His life and witnessed His
death by carpenter's materials,
and who follow again,
buy spices scented by evening
and plan an early visit to the grave
blocked by guards, pressed by stone,
sealed by Rome and death
to do what they can
with damp eyes and full hands
and devoted hearts
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